“Things are fine,” I said.
He smiled, but a bit of crimson touched his cheeks. “Sorry if she wasn’t herself.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “So, what’s going on here?” I motioned to his tools and wheelbarrow. “You got your job back? Is the farm staying open?”
“Nah, I’m just helping close up properly for the winter. It’ll get me a few more paychecks at least, and that’ll help us get by while I look for more work.” He looked at his dirty hands, then the wheelbarrow. “Give me a minute to put this away and wash up?”
“Sure.”
He pushed the wheelbarrow into a large red barn fifty yards away.
I moseyed toward the corn maze, drawn by stories of shenanigans and debauchery, but careful to keep my distance. A tingle of residual fear raised the hairs on my arms and along the back of my neck. I could practically see the larger-than-life trash-bag spiders from my childhood waiting inside for me as I approached.
I scanned the distant trees in search of hidden trail cameras while keeping an eye on the dark, yawning mouth of the maze.
Gentle thumps echoed through the walls of the barn, where Wes had gone to put the tools away. The faint but familiar melody of a Willie Nelson song slipped around the door frame as I passed.
I stopped at the maze entrance, curiosity pricking my skin. What had Nate and his wife really seen here? Something? Nothing?
The soft notes of the distant song ended, and several perimeter lights blinked out.
“I guess that’s it,” Wes said, his footfalls echoing in the silent night.
I turned to smile at him, thankful again that he wasn’t completely out of work just yet.
He looked over my shoulder and laughed. “Were you thinking of trying your luck in there?”
“Definitely not,” I said with a laugh. “I haven’t been inside since I was a kid, and once was enough for me.”
“The maze was easier before,” Wes said. “But Potter planted the stalks closer these last few years to cut down on cheaters, and he added about a thousand new plants. The maze is nearly twice as big as it was when I was a kid.”
I gave the foreboding path another long look. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t bother going in anymore. It’s a tough maze, and it takes forever if you don’t know your way. Thankfully, I do. I helped plant it. Are you sure you don’t want to give it a try?”
“I’m positive. The maze isn’t my idea of a good time,” I said, smiling at the horrendous understatement. “Did you know, the neighbors seemed to think things went on in there that shouldn’t? Do you have any idea what they could’ve seen?”
Wes crossed his arms and nodded with a grin. “Yeah. Kids from the high school come up here to fool around or drink. I find empty beer cans and trash every once in a while. I know it’s kids because I found a pair of student IDs once. Don’t ask me how that happened.” He chuckled. “Potter hated it. He worried someone would get hurt out here one night and he’d be sued even though they were trespassing after hours. He patrolled on weekends. Lost sleep for it and felt awful the next days, our busiest of the week, but he was dedicated. He loved this place.”
“The neighbors probably saw all of that.” The people going in and out. The alcohol. Even Mr. Potter with his flashlight checking on things, and assumed the worst, then blew that up in their minds to be some ludicrous ongoings. Maybe things they felt that had to stop, I thought.
I looked across the broad expanse of fields toward Nate’s place, struck with sudden concern for Hank. The dogs had gone silent, and I had no idea what was going on over there. “I’d better go check on Hank,” I said. “He went to ask Nate about the trail camera, but he’s been in there awhile.”
“What trail camera?” Wes asked.
“The one near the road. By overflow parking.”
My phone buzzed, as if on cue. Hank’s number centered my screen. “Speak of the devil.”
I swiped the screen to check the message and found a small, grainy photo sent from Hank’s phone. It was tough to make out the figures, but it looked a lot like Wes standing behind Mr. Potter at my truck’s tailgate. A shovel poised over his shoulder like a baseball bat.
The text beneath the photo simply said: Get out of there.
I lifted my stunned gaze to Wes, who was no longer smiling.
He motioned me into the maze with the flick of his wrist, a handgun now in his grip.
Chapter Twenty-six
The shocked and panicked expression on Wes’s face likely matched my own. His hand shook, and the gun vibrated in his unsteady grip. “Move,” he said, stepping forward as I stepped back, the corn maze entrance only a few feet behind me.
A familiar red truck arrived in the distance, and I considered screaming for help, but Wes’s unsteady hand stopped me. The way he was shaking, he’d likely kill me completely by accident if I tried anything. The truck door slammed, and I peeked again in that direction, the interior light slowly fading away as Mrs. Potter buckled into the passenger seat.
“They’re going out,” Wes said without taking his eyes off of me. “We have the place to ourselves. Keep moving, please.”
I took another step backward, and the stalks of towering corn obstructed my view of the world. There was nothing to do now but navigate it. I ground my heel into the earth at the first turn, then dragged it a bit to mark the direction we went from there. “What are you doing, Wes?” I asked. “I don’t understand. I thought we were friends.”
“Left,” he said, his voice shaking nearly as much as his hand.
“Wes,” I pleaded. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever is going on, I can help you.”
“No,” he said, exhaling to steady himself. “I didn’t know there was a camera. Now I have to deal with that and you and Hank, maybe Nate and his wife.” His Adam’s apple bobbed long and slow. “I don’t want to do all this.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Let me go. I won’t say a word.”
“We’ll go to the center of the maze,” he said, more softly, working out a plan. “I’ll call for help until Hank comes to play hero. Then I’ll take care of him too. The pumpkin patch is closed for the season, maybe forever. No one will look in here. You’ll both be hidden until they raze the maze. Plus, winter’s coming. So it’s possible animals will take care of moving your bodies or they’ll at least destroy the evidence of what really happened here.”
“Animals,” I squeaked, stumbling over my feet and hidden rocks on the shadowy path. “Wes! You’re going to shoot me and leave me for animals to eat?”
His distant gaze snapped back to mine, and remorse bled across his face. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? I thought, fighting the urge to grab the gun and kick him hard where it’d hurt the most. Sorry? I brought his mama staples from my pantry! I worried about him, and now he is okay letting animals eat me or drag my body away?
“You can’t just apologize, then do the wrong thing anyway,” I said, marking our next turn with a hard press of my heel. “That’s not how this works.”
“Yes, it is.” The fear in his eyes turned hard, and his expression settled into something like disgust. “My dad beat my mama for years before he was arrested. When the sheriff finally did something about it, Mama filed for a divorce and a restraining order, but that only made Dad mad. He apologized through his court-appointed attorney, and the judge turned him loose a few days later. Dad came straight for her.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
Wes made an ugly, choking sound. “Everyone’s sorry. Dad was sorry. But he still came at Mama every way he could until that old, fat sheriff finally quit sending cruisers out to help when we called. The last time the sheriff showed up, he told my folks to find a better way to work out their differences. He thought Mama could arrange some marriage counseling and Dad could consider anger management. Dad put her in the hospital for a week that night, then he came home and beat me. I was eleven. When squirrel season opened a few
days later, my dear old dad had a hunting accident.” A malicious smile spread over his usually sweet face.
“You shot your dad?” I asked, shocked and stumbling over a dip in the earth and a scattering of loose twigs.
“I did what the sheriff wouldn’t do. I protected my mama. She was supposed to be happy, thankful, even proud when I told her what I’d done for us, but instead she started drinking, and I don’t think she’s stopped.”
My jaw dropped, and my heart sank. “Wes, I am really and truly sorry.”
He hitched his chin high and squared his shoulders against my pity.
Then I finally understood. Wes had killed to protect his mama once, and he’d do it again. Killing me would keep him out of jail so he could provide for her, and that was all he wanted.
What I didn’t understand was why he’d killed Mr. Potter. “What about Potter?” I asked. “You respected him. You said he was good to you.” I dragged my heel once more.
Was that four? No, five turns. Was it left, left, right, right, left? Or left, left, left, right, left?
My thoughts scrambled as the rows of corn grew thick and deep around me. We had to be close to the center now, and I wasn’t sure I could even see the marks I’d left on the ground in the darkness. The bright property lights were too far away to illuminate the base of the looming stalks.
“I needed this job,” Wes said, scrubbing his trembling fingertips against the skin beneath his eyes. “Mama found the money I hid to refill the propane tank for heat this winter, and she took it. She bought booze and treated all those drunks at the bar to beer and pool and wings. Why would she do that?” he asked sincerely, desperately. “Now it’s cold outside, and we’re cold inside.”
I bit my tongue against the urge to say I was sorry once more. The cards life had dealt Wes weren’t fair, and I wasn’t sure what I’d have done in his shoes if someone had beat up on Granny every day like that, if I’d grown up surrounded by anger and fear instead of love and protection. I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. I couldn’t let him kill again.
“Let’s stop and talk,” I said. “Please?”
He waved the gun and I hurried on.
“You’re the one who took money from the register,” I said, feeling the final pieces fall into place. “Mr. Potter assumed it was his wife, but you found a way to do it because your mom took the money you needed for heat. You probably planned to pay him back, but he caught you and he fired you. Then you couldn’t pay him back or pay any of your other bills either.”
“He caught me putting some of it back. I wasn’t taking when he saw me, I was returning. Making a payment toward the whole, but he wouldn’t listen,” Wes said. “I begged him to let me explain, but he said he wasn’t a fool, and he told me to go home. And not come back.”
“You followed him to my truck, still trying to convince him to listen. When he wouldn’t, and he turned his back on you, you hit him with a shovel.”
Wes lowered the gun slightly, tears falling freely over his ruddy cheeks. “I didn’t mean it. I was just so angry. When he didn’t get back up, I hid him in your truck. There wasn’t time to do anything else.”
I felt the same way. We’d reached the center of the maze, and I had to do something or die without a fight. And that just wasn’t in my blood. So, I took a chance on the only idea I had.
“Ah!” I yipped and pretended to twist my ankle in the dark. I faked crumpling to the ground and hoped Wes’s distress would mask my poor acting skills. I kept my feet under me as I crouched, whimpering and holding one ankle. Not my finest moment, but I was out of time and options.
When Wes reached for me, I shoved upright with the full strength of my legs, ramming my head into his and creating a thunderous crack with our skulls.
He cussed and dropped his gun in favor of clutching his face.
My vision blurred, and my ears rang as I flung myself past him, back in the direction we’d come. The top of my forehead ached where it had connected with Wes’s nose.
He screamed profanities behind me as I made hasty turns in every direction with no regard to the marks I’d carefully left to lead myself out.
I made the next turn while looking back over one shoulder, straining to locate Wes’s position behind me. And I collided full-speed into a broad wall of muscle.
Colton clamped a giant hand over my mouth before I could find my voice and scream. He pressed one finger to his lips, then released me slowly. I formed my fingers into a gun and waved it around, warning him that Wes was armed.
Colton nodded. He tapped the sidearm in his holster, then moved into the narrow walkway as I slunk back into the dead end where I’d so gracelessly arrived.
A moment later, Colton’s voice rose firm and clear into the night. “Jefferson County Sheriff. Drop your weapon.”
The blessed thud that followed sounded a lot like the sound Wes’s handgun had made when he’d dropped it in my presence only moments before.
I waited for the precious jangling of cuffs, then stepped onto the path and followed the sounds of Miranda rights being read by my hero. I could see the outline of him just opposite the next wall of corn, and I breathed easier, cradling my aching head in one palm. I’d surely have a goose egg tomorrow. But at least it was over, and headbutt aside, no one had been hurt this time.
“Ah, ah, ah,” someone whispered.
A figure stepped into my path from the false turn a foot away and pointed a gun at my heart.
I stared, stunned and helpless, as Samuel Keller moved in close and curled a gloved hand around my throat, then positioned himself behind me. The barrel of his gun pressed against my spine. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave me alone,” he whispered, his hot, sticky breath clinging to the frozen skin of my neck and cheek.
“I listened,” I whispered, and his fingers tightened against my throat in warning.
“I saw all those suits with your Sheriff Wise today. Federal agents, right? They’re not in uniforms, so you didn’t think I’d know who they were? You must truly think I’m stupid.”
Kinda, I thought angrily, even as I forced my lips to say, “No.”
My heart thundered painfully as I struggled with the new predicament. Colton and I had both killers in one corn maze, but he didn’t know about the second one yet, and I had no way to tell him.
The massive maze suddenly felt stifling and small. Not nearly big enough for three men, three guns. And me.
Worse, what if Hank wandered in looking for me and was shot, or Colton did something stupid to save me and was shot? What if Wes became collateral damage?
What if I didn’t make it out alive?
“Call to him,” Keller whispered as Colton finished reading Wes his rights.
I pressed my lips together, refusing his request.
The gun moved away from my side until Keller’s hand rested in its place, the barrel turned away. “Do it or I’ll shoot him.”
I didn’t have to look to know he’d aimed the gun at an unsuspecting Colton through the cornstalks.
When I didn’t comply, I heard the telltale click of the gun’s hammer being cocked.
“Colton,” I called hastily, the word warbling on my tongue. The fear in my tone was unmistakable.
Colton paused a moment. His head tipped slightly, as if listening to something, then the corner of his mouth curled gently, if only for the briefest of moments. “Winnie? I’m coming. Stay put.”
Keller moved against my back, pushing us forward. The gun pressed firmly against my ribs once more.
Colton’s blank expression didn’t change as he led Wes to a halt before us. “Let her go, Keller.”
My captor chuckled near my ear, sending a wave of icy chills down my spine. “Nope. Now, let your man go or I’ll kill him. This is between you and me.” He lifted the gun toward Wes’s head, and Colton shoved Wes into the corn. “Go,” Colton said.
Keller nearly buzzed with delight. “That’s better. Now I can savor the moment. A beautiful night, a
private place to play, and this lovely woman, whose life means so much to you.” He nuzzled my cheek, and I fought to keep my dinner down.
Colton raised his palms to us, then rested one on the butt of his sidearm. “I have both hands free now. You should probably start running.”
A hint of movement in the cornstalks drew my attention, and my muscles tensed impossibly further. Had Wes decided to stay and help? Had Hank arrived from next door?
I strained to see more clearly, losing track of the threats launched between Colton and Keller, focusing hard until I finally made out the figure in the shadows.
Blake was there. And he wasn’t alone.
Suddenly, Colton launched at us, and the booming gunshot that followed momentarily silenced my world. Colton went down in a heap, and my ears rang anew.
I flung myself free of Keller’s grip and crawled across the cold, rocky earth with thoughts of nothing but Colton’s safety. “Colton!”
Around me, the world lit in a series of lights and activity.
“Samuel Keller,” an unfamiliar voice called. “Drop your weapon. You are under arrest.”
Blake stepped through the rows of corn alongside two marshals and the better part of our sheriff’s department. They manifested from the shadows, like a cavalry of ghosts.
Emergency lights flashed red and white in the sky. Static from walkie-talkies and voices over radios joined the mix of footfalls and chaos.
“Colton,” I cried, pressing my palms to his cheeks and willing his eyes to open. “Colton!”
He moaned, then pressed upward onto his knees. “I’m okay.” He rocked upright and extended a hand to pull me up. “Nice work, Montgomery.” He unzipped his jacket with a wince, then unfastened the bulletproof vest beneath. “I guess you were right. Keller didn’t like seeing all those fake lawmen.”
I touched the vest, in awe. “You planned this?”
“We improvised after I noticed Keller lurking outside the empty storefront where we organized all those reenactors in suits with bogus badges. As you suspected, Keller hated it. When I got the video text from Hank and another saying you were here with Wes, I made sure to announce that I was meeting you at the pumpkin patch. I was more covert while rallying my team.”
The Cider Shop Rules Page 24
